There was this time as a kid when in a fit of six year old rage I packed up the only bag that I had with the only supplies that I had and I set out the door ready to make the next big choice in my life. The bag was my pillowcase; the supplies were the pillow, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and maybe a walking stick. The catch of course wasn’t the pillowcase or the lack of real supplies, but that I never got past the driveway.
Around this time – anything before fifth grade qualifies – I tried to dig a hole in our backyard that would take me to China. I don’t think I thought I’d actually get there, but I do think I wanted to dig for something.
I didn’t reach China, I never did make it beyond the driveway, and I’d say that even now, almost 33 years old, I still feel like I’m digging for something. My dad said once of my brother, “He’ll never leave Los Angeles. He didn’t even like leaving the Valley. But you…I know someday you’ll leave all this.”
I believed him. But a funny thing happened along the way. I graduated college, after which I moved IN to Los Angeles. I got a job, wrote novels, and never published any of them. I’m still at that job today. Eight years later I still work at the same place, I still live in the same city, I live in the same house I’ve lived in for five years, and I still feel that itch to continue on. Yet here I am.
I suppose that’s how life works. Comfort and nostalgia are bedfellows. They both work to maintain the status quo. Desire, dreams, passion…these have magical fingers as well.
And so I decided to make a rather odd decision. Instead of moving on – finding a new home, a new city, a new whatever – I’ve decided to move back. I’m ditching the comforts of city life and retreating to my parents’ home 45 minutes away. This isn’t monumental. It’s probably not even worthy of this text. But I’m a dramatic guy. And for someone who always wants to move on, I certainly hate change and disruption. The goal is simple though…move with them, so that next year I can do something greater. I have an inkling for what that greater thing might be, but I can’t say for certain. As you progress through it, life has a way of closing doors on you. It’s the consequence of making choices. But today I’m making a choice that will lead to the opposite. I want those doors back open.
I’m ready to choose. I just hope I make it past the driveway this time.